Call me crazy, but...

So, I knew that at some point in this series, I would begin to regret having started it. Who knew it would be less than a week into it? On Friday, I had a majorly difficult day, which led to thoughts somewhere along the line of, "What the frik have I done? Why on earth did this blog series ever make sense? Am I crazy? Of course I'm crazy. The real question is, WHY THE HECK DO I WANT TO BROADCAST TO THE ENTIRE WORLD THE EXTENT OF MY CRAZY??!!"


Alas, I have committed to this project, and it's too late to change my mind now. So here we are.


Friday was a rough day. I had an appointment with my cardiologist. I had been having a lot of angina over the summer, and he wanted to see me in November when the stress of starting school had settled down, and we could see if the angina was settling down as well. The question is always whether the angina is being caused by stress induced cardiac artery spasms or a blockage. Unfortunately, life never settled down after school started, and so rather than wait any longer, he is setting me up for a nuclear stress test to see if there are any blockages.


Most of us have experienced the physical consequences of stress and sorrow. Our bodies, spirits and emotions are interconnected, which is where nervous butterflies in our stomachs come from. Also the urge to pee when we are afraid. And stress headaches. And broken hearts that actually feel like broken hearts. People who are chronically ill learn to anticipate the effects of stress on their bodies. Sometimes, I think, when things are really tough, we go to the doctor for help with the physical symptoms when what we really want is just to feel better. We hope that this time, somehow, Dr. Miracle Worker will have the treatment that will make it all better. All of it.


So, when he instead focuses on the physical and sets up tests that just seem to add to the stress, we leave his office feeling discouraged. Or in my case, teetering on the edge of weeping and wailing. Stupid doctor. Stupid tests. A stress test? Does that really sound like something I need right now? Seriously?


Long story short, after the appointment, I went out for lunch and shopping with friends. The weeping and wailing started in the restaurant. Then I felt better. Then there was a little bit of weeping in the grocery store. Stupid poinsettias. Then I felt better. Got a 16 pound turkey for eight dollars. Yay for me.


A few years ago, my New Year's resolution was to be more honest and authentic in my writing, especially on my blog. The only censor that I want to allow is the censorship of love, respect and honor with respect to the people in my life. It's a fine line. I've tripped over it a few times. Of course, when I am talking about myself and my own feelings, I have much more freedom. The point behind this blog series on mourning is that people don't talk about their experiences with mourning, and many feel alone. We wonder if we are normal. We wonder what normal is. We are filled with things to say, and are often afraid of saying them. Or maybe it's just me.


In any case, the truth is that as scary as it is to live out loud these days, it's much scarier not to.


Call me crazy....